


Concern

by sparxwrites



Series: peace beneath the city [2]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Anxiety, Domestic, Family, Fluff, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3487484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m worried about Will. He’s been… <i>off</i>, hasn’t he?” says Xephos, rubbing floured hands on his apron absently before lifting the lump of bread dough out of the bowl to properly knead it against the counter. “Distracted, tired, out-of it – he’s got those big circles under his eyes, he’s not been finishing his food… I mean… it’s not just me fretting, is it? There’s definitely something off.”</p><p>(In which Xephos notices far more than he lets slip around the 'children', doesn't know what to do, and successfully covers the kitchen in flour.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concern

**Author's Note:**

> finally the last of the fill-in-the-gaps for the "peace beneath the city" series so far. this one comes just after "favours", but isn't as closely tied as "grief" and "debt" are, so you don't necessarily have to re-read it. enjoy!

“I’m worried about Will.”

Honeydew looks up from the ham he’s carefully carving the skin off in preparation for roasting, knife held in mid-air and a frown on his face. “What d’you mean?” he asks, thoughtfully, finally pausing in his task to glance over at Xephos where he’s kneading bread dough on the table just a tad more aggressively than necessary. “He’s a good kid. Polite enough. Seems to be settling in well and getting on with Lalna.”

“He’s been… _off_ , though, hasn’t he?” says Xephos, rubbing floured hands on his apron absently before lifting the lump of bread dough out of the bowl to properly knead it against the counter. “Distracted, tired, out-of it – he’s got those big circles under his eyes, he’s not been finishing his food… I mean… it’s not just me fretting, is it? There’s definitely something _off._ ”

Honeydew chuckles. “I think _anyone_ ’d struggle to finish your meals, given the size of them,” he jokes, and then winces at the look Xephos throws him, some of the humour draining out of him. “I know, I know,” he says, heavily, setting the knife down lest he cut himself whilst not paying attention. “I’ve noticed it too. Like he’s ill, almost.”

Sighing, Xephos pats the lump of dough in front of him distractedly, pressing fingers into the soft surface of it that leave deep dents. “Do you think he _is_ ill?” he asks, dropping his voice a little, aware of Lalna’s presence in the living room across the hall and how well sound carries in the old house. “It’s been a big change for him, and- and I’d _hope_ he’d feel comfortable with talking to me if he was- I don’t know, depressed, or anxious, or… goddess forbid, something had _happened_ …”

He trails off, dragging a hand through his hair – only remembering the flour still liberally covering his skin after the fact, and yelping alarm and distaste. “Oh, my-” he sputters, rushing over to the sink to wash his hands and try and dust the flour out, magic rising inside him along with the anxiety. It turns his freckles faintly blue and his eyes almost luminous. He’s not quite sure why it happens – given he’s hardly powerful enough to have magic spilling out of him – but he blames it on all the magical accidents he had when he was younger, more careless and scatterbrained.

Unhelpfully, Honeydew laughs, catching Xephos’ wrists to prevent his frantic pawing at his own hair. “Attractive,” he says, waggling his eyebrows in the face of Xephos’ despair. “Makes you look distinguished. A proper gentleman.”

“If it’s grey hairs you’re after, I’ve got plenty of them,” mutters Xephos, freeing one of his hands from Honeydew’s grasp to brush through his hair – but he’s smiling, a lopsided curl of his lips as he combs fingers across his scalp until the flour’s mostly gone. “Goddess only knows you and Lalna have given me enough of them. And now Will’s-”

He bites down on the words, swallowing them with an audible click of teeth. The smile slides off his face, and he sighs heavily.

“Xephos…” says Honeydew, quietly, his grip on Xephos’ wrist softening as he rubs a thumb over the other man’s pulse point. “Spaceman, you’ve got to stop fussing over this.” He shakes his head, goes up on tip-toes to brush a thumb across the pale blue glow of Xephos’ cheeks. “It’s been a big move for the kid, country to city, living with family he hasn’t seen since he was a wee babby. He’s done pretty well, taking all things into consideration.”

“Maybe it’s something to do with his magic?” suggests Xephos, heavily, ignoring the words completely. He does lean into Honeydew’s touch, though, the creases at the corners of his eyes now visible from his frown making him look older and more tired than Honeydew’s comfortable with. “He does seem rather… sensitive, and, well. I can’t help but wonder how much they taught him out in the country, how much exposure to technology he got. Maybe he’s just a little overwhelmed?”

Honeydew drops his hand tugs on his beard a little in absent-minded thought, humming to distract himself from the urge to sigh, to slap at what he can reach of Xephos’ head and tell him again to stop worrying.

. “…We’ll invite Lomadia over for dinner,” he says, eventually, trying to hide how desperately he’s clutching at straws with an air of confidence. “She does all sorts of fancy things on those electrical thingy-ma-bobs of hers, she’ll know _something_ about this. More than we do, at least.” It’s true that Lomadia’s more technologically up-to-date than either him or Xephos, but she’s no technomancer. It’s something of a last-ditch attempt, and they both know it.

“It’s a laptop, Dew,” says Xephos, faintly exasperated, but he smiles nonetheless. “But yes, good idea.” The fidgeting of his hands at his sides and the way his magic presses up against the inside of his skin speaks of his continuing anxiety, though. “I’ll go talk to her tomorrow. I need some bits and pieces from her shop, anyways.”

Honeydew knows it’s a laptop. He may not be the most technologically up-to-date dwarf in the city, but he certainly knows how to use a computer. Sometimes, though, it’s worth pretending, just to get a smile out of Xephos. “See? Good plan all round, then.”

There’s footsteps just outside the kitchen, and Honeydew ignores them in favour of tugging Xephos down by the front of his button-up cardigan for a kiss, other hand tangling in his husband’s hair as Xephos loops arms around his neck.

“Ewww!” comes a voice from the doorway, and Honeydew and Xephos break apart to see Lalna standing there, an arm dramatically thrown up to cover his eyes. “Gross, _gross_. This is a _kitchen_!”

Xephos smiles, shaking his head and crossing the room to flick flour at Lalna’s shirt, grinning wider when he whines and scrubs at the white marks. “Don’t be so rude,” he says, arching one eyebrow. “Or I’ll let Dew at you with his spoon.”

“Y’don’t want that,” says Honeydew, grabbing a wooden spoon off the counter and waving it threateningly – although the effect’s somewhat ruined by the warm creases at the corner of his eyes.

Squeaking alarm at the threat, and giving up on removing the flour from his shirt, Lalna hangs his head. “Sorry, _mum_ ,” he mutters, before yelping when he gets a swat around the back of his head from Xephos for his cheek. “Ow!”

Xephos ignores his whining, turning back to the bread and pressing his knuckles into it, stretching it out against the floured wood of the tabletop. “Where’s your cousin?” he asks as he rolls it back into a lump and sets out stretching it again, lips twitching in a reluctant smile at Lalna’s continued small, whimpery noises of only half-faked distress. “Dinner’s going to be ready soon.”

“He went out,” says Lalna, a little sulkily, rubbing the back of his head with an absent hand. “Something about toiletries?”He shrugs, a little helplessly. “I don’t- it’s not like I keep track of him. Or anyone, really,” he adds, thoughtfully, after a minute. “You know I’m not good with that.”

Frowning, Honeydew picks up the knife again and goes back to skinning the ham. “I sent him out for some shampoo and stuff _hours_ ago,” he says, slowly, glancing up at the clock and huffing out a concerned noise. “Kid can’t have gotten lost _again_. …Can he?”

“The shop’s only down the road…” Xephos frown is back full force, worry easing a little light back into his freckles. “Maybe I should go look for him? What if he _has_ gotten lost, what if he’s ended up somewhere he shouldn’t – goddess, Dew, what if the Garbage Court-”

Honeydew’s saved the task of trying to calm his borderline-hysterical hysterical husband by the click of the lock on the front door, and then the slow thunk of it being closed again a moment later.

“Well, he hasn’t been, uh… _eaten_ by that kelpie in the Garbage Court, at least,” reports Lalna, craning his head around the doorframe and into the hallway before glancing back at his parents. Despite the cheery tone of his voice, there’s worry in his eyes.

A moment later, Will pads into the kitchen in his socks – shoes toed off on the doormat, for the sake of not being scolded by Xephos and possibly being hit by _the spoon_ – and sets a small plastic carrier bag down on the table. The plastic bottles of shampoo and bodywash and soap make a dull, hollow noise against the oak.

“And where on _Earth_ have you been?” demands Xephos, floured hands on hips, one eyebrow raised expression somewhere between angry and desperately relieved.

His attempt at looking intimidating is somewhat compromised by the dimming blue of his cheeks, the _Kiss The Cook!_ written in flowery cursive across the front of his floral apron, but it’s still enough to make Will cringe. “…Out?” he tries, winces further when the light leaves Xephos’ freckles and his eyes turned stormy. “I got lost. I’m- sorry.” He offers up a faintly apologetic look, not quite meeting Xephos’ eyes.

The bags under his eyes have lessened a little, Xephos notices, but there’s still a blue tinge under the chipped nail varnish on his fingers, a slightly purple edge to his lips. He shuffles, rather than walks, shoulders rounded and spine curved like everything aches. Like he’s carrying the weight of the world single-handedly.

Sighing, Xephos dusts his hands down the front of his apron, biting his lip. Despite the worry thick and bubbling in his stomach, he can’t remain angry in the face of his relief.

“...Take your phone with you, next time,” he says eventually, pulling Will into a hug and kissing the top of his head, despite the way he stiffens with the physical contact. “We were worried. I just- know how new you are to the city, I thought…” He shakes his head. “Just take a phone, next time, okay?”

Will nods as best he can pressed close to Xephos’ chest, resisting the urge to squirm free and point out he’s an adult, he can take care of himself. Evidence points to the contrary, after all. “Yes, uncle,” he says, obediently, voice muffled against the apron and heavy with tiredness.

“Now go and help Lalna set the table. Dinner’s in half an hour or so,” interrupts Honeydew, before Xephos can smother Will out of sheer relief – glancing over his shoulder as Xephos releases Will, and huffing disapprovingly at how cold-bleached his skin looks. “Wash your hands and put a jumper on first, though, you look half frozen.”

Nodding again, Will tries for a smile. “Of course,” he agrees, rubbing at the back of his neck before shoving his hands into his pockets. “I am sorry, though. I really- I didn’t mean to make anyone worry.” The almost formal way his mouth turns up at the corners doesn’t reach his eyes, as Lalna rests a hand on his shoulder and steers him out the kitchen.

“The shop’s only two roads down and a left turn,” says Honeydew, quietly, when they’re both safely gone. His gaze is focused back on the food, setting the ham onto a roasting tray and sliding it into the oven. “How in the seven hells did he get lost?”

Xephos shakes his head slowly, still staring at the doorway after his nephew, lip caught between his teeth. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, slowly, anxiously – trying to think of what, exactly, the lingering smell of honey and lemon on Will’s shirt had reminded him of, why his stomach’s twisting into sick knots. “I… I don’t know.”


End file.
